The Summit

Mount Ina Coolbrith and an unwritten poem are alike. Both are wild with no established entry points, no trails to follow, and no signs telling you which way to go. They are also different: While a poem has a metaphorical peak to scale, few have climbed Mount Ina Coolbrith, an 8,068-foot-tall mountain in the Sierra Nevada, six miles southeast of Beckwourth Pass where Ina crossed into California at eleven years old.

On a June day in 2018 I scaled it at sixty years old. We rose before dawn, but it took hours to find a good starting point. Though Mount Ina Coolbrith is on U.S. Forest Service land, its base is a sea of sagebrush, fences, and “No Trespassing” signs. With me were my husband, Dave; Wade, our fox terrier (dumb idea); and Debbie Bulger and Richard Stover, peak climbers in their retirement.

Mount Ina Coolbrith was the last item on my bucket list of Coolbrith-related pilgrimages. As her biographer, I visited her birthplace in Nauvoo, Illinois; walked the cities where she lived; and paid my respects at her Mountain View Cemetery gravesite, which had gone unmarked for years until the Ina Coolbrith Circle righted the wrong with an elegant pink marble headstone.

At around 10 a.m., we began our ascent on the west side of the mountain with its arid expanse of sweet-smelling sage and yellow mule’s ears. Up, up, up we went. By the time we neared the summit it was nearly five p.m., and clear to me that the effort was beyond my stamina. The sun was low, and the vehicles several ridges away.

Debbie pointed to the summit where we would register our names and leave a copy of Coolbrith’s “In Blossom Time.” As the others climbed the Volkswagen-sized boulders to reach it, I chose to stay behind and gather my resolve for what I knew would be an arduous hike down.

We descended by a different route, and with ankles askew, slid on loose talus, skirted sage brush, and pushed our way through dead manzanita bushes. After hours of walking on the near-sheer terrain, my thigh muscles went rubbery, and it was harder to catch myself when I slid. Wade, our terrier, had reached his limit, too, and was hitching a ride in Dave’s backpack.

The sun went down. It was a moonless night and by 10 p.m. it was pitch dark. Dave and I were unprepared. We didn’t have headlamps or a flashlight; I had a light on my phone, but Dave’s phone was dead.

The second time I fell, my heels touched my butt, and I knew I was in trouble. “I think we have to spend the night on the mountain,” I said for all to hear.

“No!” Debbie said sternly in the dark. “I won’t let you die on this mountain!”

Richard took my backpack, and we continued to walk for another hour on a black hillside that slanted near the angle of repose.

Finally, we made it back to the vehicles at 12:30 a.m., drove to our campground, and collapsed. The next day I couldn’t walk, and days of hot baths didn’t help. I saw a physical therapist and used a cane for five months until my knees began to track again.

I didn’t reach the summit, but I am at peace with that. Like writing a poem, a pilgrimage is about the journey, and summit or no, I still climbed Mount Ina Coolbrith.

By Aleta George, written for The Gathering 16, The Ina Coolbrith Circle Poetry Anthology 2024-25

Dave George, Aleta George, Richard Stover, and Debbie Bulger

 

 

 

California Forever's planned city is practically in my backyard

Site of proposed 17,500-acre city in southeastern Solano County.
Photo by Aleta George.

As an environmental journalist who has covered open space and development issues for two decades and a resident of Solano County, I have followed California Forever's plans to build a new city. The 17,500-acre planned city is twenty minutes from my house on land that I know and love.

After several months of attending town halls and events, talking to supporters and detractors, and studying the proposal, I wrote about it with the goal to cover both sides of the issue fairly. 

I also covered what it might mean for the Suisun Marsh, the only tidal brackish wetland of its kind and size that’s left on the West Coast, and a wetland that could play a vital role in mitigating sea level rise. Although the planned California Forever city is not sited within the Suisun Marsh, it has holdings that border it. 

Read "Wheat Fields or Walkable City for Solano Open Space" in KneeDeep Times, the Bay Area's climate resilience magazine.

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Yoshimatsu Nakata's Hawaiian Home

In the deep shade of an 80-foot-tall monkeypod tree in the O'ahu Cemetery in Honolulu, Hawaii, I paid my respects to Yoshimatsu Nakata, Jack London's longtime valet and surrogate son.

Nakata was central to London's life, and is featured in my book in progress about London's formative and lifelong relationship with the San Francisco Bay.

Nakata started as a cabin boy on the Snark, the boat that London built to sail around the world. When the trip was cut short, Nakata returned to California as the author's valet. Nakata was also London's first mate and surrogate son.

After eight years, Nakata married his sweetheart, Momoyo, and left London to study dentistry. In Honolulu he opened a successful practice, raised his children, Gertrude and Edward, and was elected president of the Hawaii Dental Association. He died in 1967 at age seventy-eight.

I visited the Nakata family gravesite with Yoshimatsu's grandson James Nakata, Edward's son, and his lovely wife, Lisa.

In the Japanese tradition, Jim washed the marble stone with water and a sponge in homage to his ancestors.

Nakata purchased the stone and site for his family, and I couldn't help but feel proud of him, an Issei who had migrated to Hawaii as a teenager.

Jim's office includes photos of his "grandpa." The cabinet at right was in the dental office that Yoshimatsu shared with his son, Edward, who became a dentist and a partner in the practice. 

The historic photos are courtesy of The Huntington Libary. All others by Aleta George.